


The Gypsy and The Soldier

by Book_Lover2001



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Eliott helps Lucas, Eliott is a royal guard, Eliott is loyal to the King but... Lucas tho, I'm oddly proud of it?, Lucas is an independent man but... Eliott tho, Lucas is on the run, M/M, Protective Eliott, Why? I have no idea, inspired by the Hunchback of Notre Dame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24103993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Lover2001/pseuds/Book_Lover2001
Summary: Hunt down the gypsy and soldier! Don't let them flee and vanish in the night! All Paris burns for the gypsy and soldier!Set in an alternate universe, where Eliott is a royal guard and Lucas has a warrant out for his death.OrA loosely inspired 'Hunchback of Notre Dame' AU that not a single person asked for but I wrote anyways.—Completed—
Relationships: Eliott Demaury/Lucas Lallemant
Comments: 46
Kudos: 124





	1. Hunt Down the Gypsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical song: "Esmeralda"

The King’s order had been clear and blunt: return the gypsy boy to him dead. No questions to be asked, no questions to be answered. Eliott had accepted the edict as it was given and set out to find the criminal. Although he was quick in his actions, Eliott didn’t understand what this boy had done to deserve such a harsh and cruel warrant to be placed on his head.  He had never spoken to the gypsy but had caught a glance of him in the square, the Parisian sun glowing around him as if he had been under the protection of the universe. His sharp blue eyes had met Eliott’s through the crowd, and as they held his gaze, time had slowed to a halt. They were orbes of innocence, of pleading mercy to which Eliott lost himself to. The beauty and the glimmer of their hue had made his breath hitch in his throat. Yet, behind their glassy shine, they held a secret; perhaps the secrets of generations. It was in this moment that he let his oath to the crown falter, and he let the boy escape into thin air. 

Now, as the hunt for the boy raged on, Eliott found himself feeling guiltier and guiltier. Should he have chased him? Should he have not let his guard fall? Should he have not bowed to the sudden feeling of mercy he felt? He pushed down his dread, as he led a group of guards with him through the city to a brothel which was notorious for sheltering gypsies. He sent them in, insisting that he would follow from behind. He didn’t know this boy but something bit down at him, a gnawing, unrelenting feeling that refused to subside. The look in his eyes had managed to carve into Eliott and pierce his heart like a dagger, scarring him with their painful gaze each time he closed his eyes. This was not where he would be hiding; there was an intelligence in his features, and this brothel was not a smart decision. 

Watching as his men disappeared into the building, Eliott lingered back, casting a glance over the city that surrounded him. Then, he spotted it.  _ Sanctuary. _ Letting his feet carry him, Eliott raced down the street with determination set in his mind. He had already let him slip from his grasp once, he wasn’t ready to let him run off again. 

The steeple held high in the sky among the buildings, and as Eliott approached the magnificent structure, he wondered why it had ever been closed. The abandoned church sat like a shadow looming over the passerbyers. The cathedral that had once stood as a pillar for faith, now was boarded up and covered in cobwebs. 

Inside, it was no less disheartening and frightening. Empty pews, some of which were knocked over and discarded throughout the room. A ceiling which stretched into the heavens, with windows that had once been panes of beautiful stained glass but were now covered or shattered. It was just as grand and as breathtaking as it must have been in its prime, but now it was without life. The cathedral was dead inside; quiet, spiritless, and hollow. 

“Sanctuary,” Eliott spoke quietly, but his voice carried, echoing with a haunting tone. The boy was seated in the open, at the step of the altar. He was not hiding, but waiting. The golden cross, which hung above the sculpture of the Virgin Mary holding her crucified son, shadowed over him. He did not run when Eliott stood metres away from him, he simply sat. Eliott stopped where the pews ended, not wanting to scare him off, although he did not seem to scare easily. 

“The laws of sanctuary protect me,” the boy said, his voice firm as he looked up at the guard.

“Those laws died when this cathedral did,” Eliott told him, frozen in his stance. The boy turned his cheek, his gaze dropping to the ground.

“He wishes me dead.” The gypsy boy did not seem distraught or saddened, but rather emotionless. 

“Yes,” Eliott breathed, unable to speak more than the single word. 

“Then he will not stop until I am,” he responded, meeting Eliott’s eye again. They were the same blue eyes he had caught earlier in the square. The very same eyes that had once looked full of life, now seemed withdrawn and empty. 

“Why run? Why bide your time then?” Eliott found himself asking. The boy’s lips twitched up into a sad smile. 

“Do you remember the days when this church was alive?” The question took Eliott aback, not anticipating the change in subject.

“It was closed before I was born,” Eliott informed him. The boy looked no older than he was, his face unmarked by age, soft and smooth with youth. 

“The King demanded it so,” the boy said bitterly, shifting to sit on his hands. “Before I was born, as well. My mother used to tell me stories of how she would come here as a child. She would reminisce about its past and about the beauty that was inside; the voices and the music that would echo off of the walls. She died, hoping to see it like that once again.”

“I thought gypsies didn't worship--”

“I am no gypsy,” the boy defended, his chin high in the air. He stood from his spot, with a fire in his eyes. “I am as Parisian as you, soldier.”

“The King deems you as such.”

“Because the  _ king _ wishes it. He tell you that I am, because then you can kill me with no remorse.” The boy walked forward, off of the step. “Without a second thought, you would believe you were alleviating the city of a disease--of an intruder that was infecting your precious borders. You think gypsies, regardless of how human they are, should be removed from Paris like trash off the ground.” 

“You do not know what I think,” Eliott fought back, as he came toe to toe with the boy. 

“Do not all soldiers think alike?” he spat, causing Eliott to huff at the ignorance of the notion. "Then why should gypsies be treated all alike?” The comment made Eliott blink-- blink at the harshness of the boy's voice. 

“If you are not a gypsy, then why do you defend them?” The boy squinted his eyes at him, peering at Eliott as if he were trying to see through him like glass. 

“I defend those who cannot speak for themselves-- the outcasts. If I do not speak for them, then no one will.”

“Very honourable for you to do so,” Eliott said without sarcasm, and the boy seemed confused by the kindness that fell from his voice. 

“It is not honourable, it is moral. It is just. There should be no claims of honour in acts of human decency.” 

“Spoken like an honourable man.” 

“You have not killed me,” the boy noted after a moment of silence. “You saw me in the square, and you let me escape. Now you have found me, and have yet to run me through. Why?”

“It is moral,” Eliott spoke his words back to him. 

“No, it is idiocy. You will be killed for disobeying a royal order,” the boy argued. Eliott shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

“Just as you will be for defending the weaker.” Something flashed before the boy’s eyes; hesitation.

“That is not why I will die.” 

“If you are not a gypsy nor protecting them, then what have you done for such an edict?” 

“Be born,” the boy confessed to the stranger. Eliott looked down at him, confusion evident in his features. “I should not have been born.” The boy wrapped his arms around himself, and took a step away. Eliott took a step forward.

“What do you mean?”

“I cannot say, but just know that I have done nothing wrong. When I die, you will be the only one who knows my innocence.” 

“If you have done nothing wrong--”

“Then I shouldn’t die?” The boy gave a humourless laugh, that filled the room. “Kind of you to agree with me.” 

“I want to help you, but I can’t if you don’t confide in me,” Eliott begged. He did wanted to help him. 

“You cannot help me either way. You don’t know the secrets I hold.” Eliott shot a look over his shoulder at the closed door. He knew the guards would be after both of them soon. 

“Please, let me help you.” 

“Why? You are a royal guard. What trust do I have in you? What will stop you from killing me when I turn around?” 

“I…” Eliott didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to convince someone who has run his whole life, that he could trust a stranger. “There is nothing I can tell you that will make you trust me. You will just have to believe.” 

“You’re charming, I’ll give you that,” the boy shook his head. “But no amount of charm will make me compulsive.” 

“I don’t know why I want to help you,” Eliott spoke honestly. “I can’t find a single reason why I need to save you, but I… I know I have to. As if the universe is telling me that I can’t let you go.” The boy looked closely at Eliott, the gears spinning in his mind. His eyes bore into Eliott's as they searched for something that the solider didn't know. A moment passed and then something shifted in the boy's face. 

“I trust you,” the boy said, speaking each syllable slowly and precisely, as if convincing himself of the realization. 

“Good, because we have only a few minutes before my men find us. We need to run.” 

“If you leave with me,” the boy warned. “You will be a deadman. There is no turning back from this. You will be on the run, forever.” 

“Is it odd that I feel like I know you?” Eliott blurted out as the question came to mind. 

“No.” 

“There is something familiar to you, that I can’t quite place.” The boy bit the inside of his cheek. 

“It’s my nose.” 

“Your nose?” Eliott repeated, an airy laugh on the tip of his tongue. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps began to echo as the large front doors pushed open with the might of multiple men. The boy quickly grabbed Eliott's wrist, pulling them out of sight and towards a broken window. The shouts of men hung in the dusty, thick air as the boy began to climb up a tipped over pew.

“Yes," the boy whispered, pushing himself up to the window's ledge. "It’s like the King’s. Like father, like son. Now, give me your hand.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear your feedback on this really random one shot idea. I wasn't planning on going further than this but if you would like to read more, I might turn this into a short story!
> 
> Also, go listen to the Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical because it is underrated and an absolute bop that deserved to be put on Broadway.


	2. As Midnight Nears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of your feedback! I heard you loud and clear, so without further delay-- "The Gypsy and The Soldier" is now a multi-chapter fic! It has been completely written, so I will be updating everyday!
> 
> Inspired by the Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical songs: "Esmeralda", "Topsy Turvy pt.1", and "Flight into Egypt"

The boy pulled Eliott through with him, but not without a misstep. The boy’s arm grazed a shard of glass, cutting through the sleeve of his loose cotton shirt, and slicing into his arm with a hiss. As quickly as the injury happened, blood began to soak through the material of his shirt. As it spread across the fabric, the blood from the gash, dripped down his arm, staining his porcelain skin with crimson streaks. 

“Are you alright?” Eliott asked, quietly. As they pressed their backs against the stone exterior of the cathedral, the boy waved off the captain’s worry with the flick of his hand. Eliott grabbed at the blue cloak that draped off his shoulders, ripping the width of the fabric that floated at his heel. “Let me,” Eliott took his arm in his hand, in spite of the wince of protest. With a swift motion, Eliott wrapped the cloth around the wound. 

They could hear the voices getting closer to them and Eliott knew that they were running out of time. “I’ll distract them,” Eliott began, with a tightening pull of the bandage. “You need to run as far as you can.” The boy looked from his arm, up to him, hesitation deep in the lines of his features. Biting his lip, he reached under his shirt, removing a string from his neck. The boy thrusted it into Eliott’s hands; the dark stone jewel catching the light of the setting sun, causing it to shine like a glowing forest sprite. It had groves and impressions in the oval shape, with a golden cross paint in the centre and a small black cross marked near the bottom.

“Tomorrow at midnight, find me,” he spoke softly. In Eliott’s distraction, the boy disappeared from right under his nose, like a mist dissipating into the air. The soldier was left standing, the necklace in his hand, alone under the broken window, with only the faint smell of lavender to remind him of the boy’s existence. Wasting not a moment more, Eliott tucked the string around his neck and under his armour, before racing to the front of the church to pull his men on a wild chase through Paris. 

As he misled his soldiers through the streets, Eliott felt the pulse of the stone that pressed against his chest. The curiosity surrounding, not only the necklace, but the boy’s identity ate away at him as the city plundered into the dark of the night.  _ Like father, like son. _ The words only now settled over him with a wave of realization.  _ A prince.  _ Did the boy know the weight that his claim bore? Was this a trick of a gypsy in order to lead him into a trap? Perhaps he was finding himself the fool-- but he didn’t feel as such. He had no reason to trust the boy and yet he did. He felt tasked with seeing him safe and settled far from the dangers of the city. Perhaps this was his greater purpose; to be his protector, to care for him like no one had before. 

* * *

The next day, Eliott passed through the streets like a ghost as he led his men astray once again. He had laid awake unable to sleep through the night as each time he closed his eyes he saw images of the boy flash before him. At first, they were memories of him standing with the remnants of the fallen cathedral around him, like the seventh angel of the revelations. The remembrance of his silvery voice, that had spoken with determination and power, as he refused to stand down to a royal guard. He may have been the only other person there, yet Eliott felt like he could be one in a thousand and Eliott would still be drawn to him, just as he had in the square. His smooth features that contrasted with the angular structure of his jaw. His cobalt eyes that reminded Eliott of the blue glass bottles that washed up on the shore of the Seine, in broken fragments littering the ground. The rose of his cheeks when he defended his innocence, his head held high under the shadow of the golden cross. Then, just as Eliott would find an ease in the boy, the images would shift and suddenly, Eliott is kneeling in rubble, the boy laying limply and lifelessly in his arms. His chest would tighten as he would sit up in a sweat, his breaths shallow and jagged. The aching, not of his body but of his heart, suffocatingly intense as he found himself clutching at the necklace that stayed safely tucked away under his shirt. These feelings, although more prominent now, had always been there, from the very second he caught the mysterious boy’s eye. The feeling that he was somehow pulled to him by fate, by the universe’s will. As if he was meant to help him. 

The day became unbearably tedious the longer he led the search for the boy, calling out vague descriptions of him to people in the street, always praying that they would know nothing. At one moment, there was a murmur that he had been spotted at Le Pomme de Eve, the tavern frequented by gypsies. After a brief flicker of worry, Eliott led the men to the bar, relief washing over him when he did not find him there. The vicious cycle of the day made Eliott want to scream in frustration. He wished so much that the King would call off the search, finding it in himself to let the boy go, but if what Eliott had learned was true-- if this boy was a lost child of the King-- this search would not only persist, but fortify. 

“Captain,” one of his soldiers addressed him. “The King will be expanding his search efforts beginning tonight.”

“At the Feast of Fools?” Eliott questioned, to a nodding response. 

“He is hoping that as the gypsies frequent the event--”

“--that he may be in attendance,” Eliott completed the man’s sentence with an even tone. “Well, then, we will be making the rounds this evening. Is that all?” 

“The King requests you to guard his appearance during the festivities at sunset.” Eliott could feel the amulet burning into his skin from under his armour as he agreed to the King’s wishes, sending the man away with his word. Looking up to the sky, the sun was nearing the end of its performance, the moon waiting in the wings. As the street vendors began to set up for the festival, Eliott knew that soon the day would find itself at midnight.

Seeking it’s comfort, he reached for the stone, pulling it free from his neck and holding it in his palm.  _ Find me _ . The beautiful lines seeped into the surface of the emerald green rock, scarring it with markings. Eliott brushed his thumb over the golden cross.  _ Find me.  _

Suddenly, Eliott blinked down at the stone with a new understanding washing over him. Casting a look around himself, Eliott slipped away from his men, following the steeple above to guide him.

The cathedral stood ever the same as it did the day before, with it’s eerie ambiance and the shadows of the fallen saints lingering on the walls. The last remaining light of the day, which poured in through the broken windows, lit his way through the wreckage once more. As he rounded the stone staircase, spiralling further and further up, he wondered how many times the boy had made this very same passage. Had he memorized the curves of the steps? Did he count each as he went, until he was able to walk the path blindly?

The last remaining bell tower of the magnificent cathedral, stood as a reminder of the once beautiful chimes that used to call over the city. The bells shone in the daylight, their silver casting reflecting the sun despite the layers of dust accumulated on their surfaces. Sweeping a finger over the heavy metal, he revealed the once brilliant shine hidden under the centuries of uncare. His feet carried him to the edge of the bell tower, the breeze pushing past him with a gentle nudge.

Removing the stone from his neck he held it out in front of him, a light laughter falling from his mouth.

“A map,” he said to himself, still in disbelief. “A map of the city seen from above.” 

* * *

The king sat from his throne at the edge of the square, his gaze casted out across the festivities ahead of them. Eliott stood silently to his left, anticipation settling in his chest as the hours ticked closer to midnight. With every chance he had, Eliott snuck looks over his shoulder at the man adorned in gold and silks. His face riddled with age, his years noticeable by the deep lines marking his skin. Covered in the finest jewels and precious metals, and yet Eliott’s attention was not pulled to them. The captain could not look away from his nose and eyes. The all too familiar blue hue that haunted his dreams last night, the pointed nose that was unmistakably identical-- the boy’s claim if untrue, had managed to bias Eliott’s judgements. 

“Captain?” the king looked at him, with a curious glance. Eliott realized he had been caught staring. 

“Your majesty?” 

“You seem distracted,” the king noted, tilting his head back, lacing his fingers in his lap. Eliott bowed his head slightly.

“Only distracted by the search, apologies.” 

“The  _ search _ ,” the king repeated the word, a shadow passing over his eyes, something dark and threatening. Eliott could no longer see the resemblance to the boy’s eyes, which seemed to always hold a dreamlike hope. The king’s, however, held a far sinister hope-- one that was masked behind an approachable facade. “The boy is here in the city somewhere, I know it. Soon enough he will be brought to justice at the hands of my soldiers.” Eliott remained placid at the comment, unwilling to let himself be discovered over a few words.

“Rightfully so,” Eliott said, feigning agreement. The king looked up at him, his eyes seeming to clear like storm clouds passing. 

“Captain, you are proving yourself a loyal asset to the crown,” the king began, as the performers danced around the square to the cheers of watchers. “Perhaps one day you will become an adviser.” Eliott pressed his lips into a smile, bowing at the proposition that will never come. 

“With honour,” Eliott spoke through his smile, before returning to face out to the crowd. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear your feedback!


	3. The Court of Miracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical song: "Court of Miracles"

As midnight neared, Eliott raced to keep hidden as he made his way through the twists of the streets and alleys. He let the boy’s map guide him blindly through the depths of the town, without a thought to its validity. He had already let the boy escape twice, and if it was discovered, Eliott would be thrown in prison for aiding a criminal. Never would he have thought that he could disobey a direct edict, and yet something about this particular boy made him throw the command and his duty aside, with a single word. 

“Captain,” the boy’s voice called from out of a shadow. Eliott had followed the stone until he was standing at a tomb amidst a cemetary. The boy stepped out into the moonlight, greeting the soldier with a sweet smile. “You’ve found me.” He was wearing a black cloak, it’s hood pulled over his head. 

“Was that ever in question?” Eliott asked him, as he walked up to him. The boy tipped his chin up, meeting his eye, the cloth slipping down to reveal his tousled brown hair. The flame from Eliott’s torch lit them both in orange and yellow. 

“You found me once before,” he said, with a shrug. “My faith was unwavering.” Eliott held the necklace out to him, offering it back to its rightful owner.

“This can be dangerous in the wrong hands,” Eliott told him, but the boy just reached forward and curled Eliott’s fingers around the stone. 

“That is why I have placed it in the right ones. Keep it close to you, always.” Eliott looked down at the boy’s hands, cupping the stone in Eliott’s grasp. 

“Do you often trust blindly?” Eliott asked, his mouth feeling as if it were stuffed with cotton. The boy pressed his lips together. 

“No,” he said, pulling his touch back. “My trust is seldomly given. It is worth more than my love.” The vulnerability behind the words weighed them down, allowing them to hang in the air between them. 

“Then I will treat it as I would your heart.” The boy gave Eliott the same gaze that he had at the cathedral; a look of searching and internal thought. 

“Very well, soldier,” the boy nodded, before taking the torch from Eliott’s hands. “We must get going.” 

“To where?” The boy moved to stand in front of the stone coffin. 

“Captain--”

“--Eliott,” he corrected him. The boy casted him a glance over his shoulder; a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. 

“Lucas,” he supplied, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Now,  _ Eliott _ , may I ask you to help me move this stone? I would but unfortunately my arm is all but healed.” Eliott stepped up to the coffin, displacing the lid to reveal a staircase which led into the ground. Lucas gave him a knowing smile, as he bowed his head in gratitude before taking the first steps. Eliott followed, only falling behind to slide the stone back into place above him.

* * *

The boy-- Lucas, led Eliott through the abandoned underground of the city, an unsettling feeling ran over his body as their steps echoed through the tunnel. Lucas held the torch out ahead of them, walking with a familiarity that should have eased the captain, but rather it worried him far more. Was this where he found that his feelings had led him astray? That he had trusted, not an innocent boy, but a manipulative criminal. 

“You think loudly,” Lucas spoke, his voice a whisper amongst the deathly silence that surrounded them. Eliott tried to ignore the creature that brushed past his boot, as they took a turn furthering themselves into the tunnel system. 

“I’m worried.” Eliott’s honesty surprised even himself, as the words tumbled from his mouth. Lucas stopped walking, turning to look at him, the glow of the fire lighting his face.

“As am I, but if you do in fact trust me, then believe me, this is not the moment where worrying is necessary.” Eliott nodded, accepting the vague answer. “We are almost there.” His words were not an empty promise, as they did soon reach an opening that spanned ahead of them. Lucas jumped from where their tunnel ended, and landed into the cavernous stretch below. Eliott’s hesitation drew a laugh from the boy. 

“Afraid of heights,  _ Captain _ ?” Lucas called to him from where water once ran. Eliott rolled his eyes, pushing down the fear that had momentarily appeared.

“Of course not,” Eliott bit back, taking the jump and landing on his feet. Lucas raised his eyebrows at the swift landing, but said nothing. He continued to walk further under an arch, the torch casted their shadows like monstrous figures along the stones. “Are you going to tell me where you are leading us?” 

“Where is the fun in that? Do you not like mysteries?” 

“Only if they do not end with me killed.” Lucas shook his head at Eliott’s comment.

“You won’t be killed… well, I can’t exactly make that promise. Only that  _ I _ won’t kill you.” 

“How reassuring,” Eliott replied, dryly. The further they walked, the more Eliott’s subconscious ran rampant with questions of his sanity. 

“We’re here,” Lucas announced as the light spanned far enough that it’s reach illuminated a draped piece of fabric. Then, Eliott allowed himself to notice the sounds of voices. Lucas discarded the torch in a basin of water that was at the entrance, sending them into the pitch dark before sweeping the thick curtain aside. 

Eliott blinked at the world that stood in front of him; like a village. An actual sanctuary. 

“Welcome,” Lucas gestured widely with his arms. “To the Court of Miracles.” Eliott stepped next to the boy, allowing himself a better view of it all. It genuinely was a small city, built under Paris. 

“The Court of Miracles,” Eliott repeated, in a daze.

“Perhaps you’ve heard the stories,” Lucas smiled, a proud grin that suited his face. Eliott found himself admiring the way his eyes pinched at the corners as his cheeks drew up with the expression. “Of the  _ mythical  _ place where the scoundrels of Paris collect?”

“Where the lame can walk,” Eliott recited the legend with a breathless awe. Lucas chuckled. 

“And where the blind can see,” he completed the saying. “Yes, the one in the same.” 

“I always thought that this place was just a rumor, a child’s tale.” 

“Stories must always come from somewhere,” Lucas spoke wisely, placing a light hand on Eliott’s arm. “Come.” Eliott followed him further inside, down a large stone staircase. The space stretched far above them, curtains of brightly coloured fabrics hanging from the stone walls like waterfalls of material. Tents of the same colours stood pitched, as torches and fires were spread around illuminating the abandoned underground city. Gypsies were displaced in groups throughout, talking amongst themselves, some were playing music and singing. 

“Today is the Feast of Fools,” Lucas leaned into his ear and explained, sensing Eliott’s curiosity. “And so, many are out in the streets celebrating. It is much more alive otherwise.”

“Were you out tonight?” Eliott asked, as a group of gypsies bounded past them, climbing to the top of the stairs. 

“Only to retrieve you, my dear Captain,” Lucas teased, as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

“I do not… participate, per say.” Lucas set Eliott an odd look at his confession. 

“I am tasked with a gracious honour of guarding the king during these celebrations.” At the mention of the king, Lucas’ face tightened.

“I see,” the boy replied slowly, as he led further into the space. 

“He has doubled his efforts…” Eliott told him, with a wavering hesitation. Lucas huffed at the information.

“As predictable as the sun,” he muttered. “He will stop at nothing…” 

“Lucas!” a voice called out for the boy. Lucas looked around, before letting a smile settle on his features. A boy, similar in age, approached him, with a sigh of relief. He pulled Lucas into his arms, the smaller boy accepting the show of affection. 

“Yann,” Lucas patted his back. “I just saw you minutes ago.” 

“You know I worry everytime you go out,” Yann said, holding Lucas at arms length to examine him. 

“I’m fine,” he protested, rolling his eyes. “First Manon, now you? I am  _ fine _ .” The taller boy watched Lucas with a worried gaze that made Eliott’s back straighten. With the sudden shift in posture, Yann caught Eliott in his sight. He quickly pulled Lucas behind his back, defensively shielding him from the soldier.

“What is a royal guard doing here?” Yann spat, his voice low as to not draw attention. Lucas pushed Yann off of him, moving to stand in front of Eliott.

“He is my guest,” Lucas’ eyes were stern, but so were his friend's. “He risked everything to save me.”

“Lucas,” Yann spoke slowly and carefully. “He is still a soldier. He only answers to one person.” 

“I trust him,” Lucas told him. There was a moment between the two boys; an exchange of looks which spoke more than they had said aloud. 

“His people are the ones trying to kill you,” Yann argued, breaking the silent debate.

“Since when do you judge the person by the group?” Lucas asked, his voice unwavering. His friend opened his mouth, only to close it immediately. 

“I see,” he said after another moment of looks. “Well then, if you trust him… then so do I.” Lucas’ shoulders relaxed and he extended a hand out to Yann, who took it. 

“Eliott,” Lucas looked to Eliott and motioned to the other boy. “Yann. Yann, Eliott.” They nodded at each other, apprehension from the both of them apparent in the tension that hung between them. Lucas must have noticed but chose to ignore it, knowing that it would be hard for a gypsy and a soldier to trust one another immediately. 

Eliott did not hate the gypsies. He, like Lucas, did not believe they could all be compiled into one mass, however, the gypsies were all guilty of entering the city illegally. They did practice witchcraft, they did show hatred to the crown, they did harbor criminals amongst them, and as a soldier he was used to being wary of them. It was difficult to reverse a subconscious programming of his mind. 

Yann allowed them to continue on their way, but not without another look of hesitation. As Lucas led them somewhere else, Eliott received many looks from all who they passed. Lucas took his hand as if to ward the glares off with a single gesture. Eliott looked down at their entwined fingers, the innocent action now making him feel heavier. The pressure of their two hands together made Eliott’s mouth dry with an unnerving feeling that he did not want to welcome. Yet, he did not protest the touch. Was it because it was creating a bubble of safety around him from the judgemental gazes and hateful whispers, or was it because the warmth they shared was comforting for other reasons-- reasons he did not think too deeply about. 

“Are you alright?” Lucas whispered to him, turning his face to look up at him. “You’ve paled.” 

“You said you were not a gypsy,” Eliott changed the subject, clearing his throat. Lucas licked his lips, moving to look forward, a smile curling on his features. 

“What if I lied? Would you still be so trusting in me if I were a gypsy?” 

“You didn’t,” Eliott said instantly. “I know you didn’t, but if you wish to know the answer to your question-- then yes. I told you the truth, I feel like I need to help you, regardless of your citizenship or not.” Lucas hummed at his response, as if he had passed a test.

“I believe you,” Lucas mused. “And, now to answer your curiosity-- no, I am not a Romani, but they are my family. They protect me, shelter me, and I will fight for them until my last breath.” With every little truth that Lucas shared, Eliott found himself all the more intrigued. 

“You are a surprising person,” Eliott revealed as they approached a tent. “I like surprising people.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The part where Lucas says that his trust is worth more than his love is based off a quote from the tv show "Shameless US" when Fiona says, "I trust you, that's bigger than 'I love you'."
> 
> As always, I would love to hear your feedback!


	4. No Further To Run

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical song: "In a Place of Miracles"

Sleep had come to Eliott much quicker this night, than it had the previous day. It could have been from the calming scent of lavender that seemed infused in the blanket and pillow he was resting with, or perhaps it was that Lucas was laying an arm’s reach away, that brought a calmness to him. Eitherway, sleep had come, but it had not come with mercy. As he dreamed of Lucas’ crumpled body once again, he found himself in the same position he had been last night: gasping for air, his head resting between his knees, the stone clutched in his hands. However, this time, he was not alone. Lucas’ hand rested on his back, as the boy sat next to him with soothing words falling from his lips. 

“I have to get you away,” Eliott finally spoke, when he was able to find his voice. It was weak and barely above a whisper, but it cut through the air with a stern force. Lucas did not drop his touch, but it did falter, before resuming its pattern of rubbing gentle circles. He asked no questions. He didn’t pry or press, but rather he sat quietly, waiting to hear him out. “I had this dream…” Eliott began after another moment. “Last night, and again tonight. Do you believe that dreams can be oracles?”

“I believe that dreams can show you your fears, your desires, your realizations, memories as well.” He paused. “Sometimes our dreams can warn us; give us instinctual feelings that lead to premonitions… what do you feel?” Eliott turned to meet his eyes; the same blue eyes in his dream that were hollow, empty, lifeless voids that looked up at him before falling shut forever.

“So many things.” Lucas nodded slowly, finding something in Eliott’s gaze that revealed more than his words. 

“My mother,” Lucas shifted the conversation. “She was a wonderful woman; smart, capable, lovely. She found the beauty in all things…”

“Like the cathedral,” Eliott supplied in the lull. Lucas gave a breathy huff, a smile on his lips.

“Yes, like the cathedral, like the gypsies… like my father. He was the prince when they met, but my mother didn’t see him for his title. She worked in the palace as a servant girl. To her, he was a dazzling smile and a set of kind eyes that watched her from afar. She would tell me stories of how much he loved her. How he would surprise her and treat her, not as a maid, but as an equal. But it was clear, even from her stories that he was only using her, playing her naivety to sleep with her. Once they had, he became distant-- she said it was because he didn’t want to put pressure on her, but she never was able to see past those eyes that had caught hers for the first time.” Eliott swallowed, finding sympathy with Lucas’ mother, for he found himself mesmerized by a similar set of eyes. 

“She went mad eventually, her sanity slipping from her as she lived with the consequences of her unrequited love. He did horrible things to her, said horrible things to her once he found out that she was with child. He was getting married, he was going to have a royal lineage, and there was my mother, with a child out of wedlock and ready to ruin his family name. She convinced him that I had died at birth, all the while she hid me here, with the Romani. She had made good friends with a gypsy families and they had agreed to raise me while she continued to work at the palace in order to keep up the pretense that she had lost me. He believed it, and when she could, she would sneak away to visit me.” 

“How did he find you?” Eliott asked, having found himself enraptured in the story. 

“He saw me, caught my eye in the city and he just knew. I look like him, as even yourself noticed. He has been after me ever since.” 

“But if you pose no threat--”

“I will always pose a threat, Eliott. My mere existence threatens him, his children, his lineage. He can’t have a bastard son running loose-- rightful heir to the throne.”

“We must leave before he finds you,” Eliott repeated, taking Lucas’ hands in his.

“We’ll leave at dawn,” he said, solemnly. 

“I can get us across the border… I hear Italy is lovely this time of year.” Lucas gave a soft laugh. 

“I never did leave Paris, because this is my home, my family, my friends. I always thought that I’d manage to live undetected-- and I had until only a few days ago.”

“Someday he’s going to die,” Eliott offered, and Lucas pressed his lips into a smile.

“Someday, and then maybe you can return to Paris.”

“ _ We _ can return,” Eliott corrected, but Lucas shook his head.

“I will never be able to come here. You, you will be able to pass off as a stranger, but I will always wear my crime on my face. He will pass off this command to his children-- my brothers and sisters do not seem like people who like to be challenged. Even in death, he will be unrelenting.”

“You are nothing like how I imagined you,” Eliott admitted, unable to unlock his eyes from Lucas’. With his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could faintly see him, outlined against the red cloth walls around them. The dimming glow of the torches and fires outside seeped ever so slightly inside, making the blackness more bearable.

“And what did you imagine I would be like?” Lucas asked, his body still close to him.

“I didn’t imagine you to be a very wise person who has had to grow up much faster than I ever had to.” Lucas was taken aback by the answer, pushing his shoulders back. “When I saw you in the crowd, I thought, this boy is someone who is afraid of the dark.”

“I am not afraid of the dark,” Lucas scoffed. Eliott smiled at him. 

“No you’re not. You conquer it.”

“Why did you show me mercy in the square?” Lucas’ voice was dropping back to a faint whisper.

“Something in your eyes,” Eliott began, leaning forward as if to capture the story between themselves. “Made me question what I was doing. I stopped in my tracks, and I let you go.”

“But then you came looking for me afterwards.”

“I planned to right my wrong.”

“You were going to kill me.” 

“Until I saw your eyes again; the look was still there. Then you spoke.”

“I spoke,” Lucas repeated, letting the words linger on his tongue, tasting them. 

“You spoke and it made my heart stop.” Lucas blinked at him, letting Eliott’s words register. “You were speaking of sanctuary, and I knew that I couldn’t kill you.”

“I must have spoken words you’ve never heard before if I could make your heart stop.”

“It was less the words you spoke,” Eliott paused. “And more your voice.” Their faces were so close that Eliott could feel the warmth of Lucas' breath on his own mouth. 

“I was correct in calling you charming,” Lucas spoke softly. “You are extremely charming.” Eliott touched his palm to Lucas’ cheek, bringing their foreheads together. Their lips hovered so closely that Eliott wondered why they hadn’t met yet; the tension between the two of them was making it difficult to breathe. But the universe was a cruel fiend when it wanted to be. The two of them were ripped apart by sudden shouts. Heavy footsteps echoed and Lucas rose to his feet in an alarm. Eliott joined him outside the tent, taking in the sight of hundreds of soldiers marching down the steps. 

“Lucas,” Eliott’s voice was strong as he turned to the boy. “Get inside the tent.” Lucas shook his head, a sad smile on his face, his eyes glossy with dread. He reached out, placing a gentle touch to Eliott’s arm.

“There is no further I can run.” Eliott found himself shaking his head, desperately willing him to not lose hope, but as the guards parted, making way for the king, Eliott knew that Lucas was right. The soldiers closed in the gypsies, blocking them from being able to retaliate. The king stood in triumph at the top of the steps, looking down at the peaceful world that the gypsies had built over the centuries. He admired it all with a shrug, taking it all in, until he let his eyes finally rest on the two fugitives. Under his gaze, Eliott pulled Lucas to him, pressing him against his back, hiding him from his hateful scorn. Lucas rested his cheek against his shoulder blades, a few tears seeping through the fabric of Eliott’s shirt. 

“Apologies for the late arrival,” the king announced, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Unforutenly, the mobilization of my army took longer than anticipated.” The harsh silence of fear and shock overcame the people of the underground city. “The Court of Miracles!” The king gushed. “How I have been searching for you! And now with gratitude to Captain Demaury, I have finally found it!” Eliott’s brows furrowed at the comment, as the king made his way down the steps toward him. “Yes, Eliott, you have been a great help. You see, when my highest ranked Captain couldn’t find a single man, I began to become suspicious. So when you left my side today, in quite a rush I might add, I had someone follow you. When they returned to tell me that you and a boy walked into a tomb, I knew that I had to send some men to search into this matter further. Once they in fact did find a secret passage, well then I organized my soldiers--my loyal ones-- and here we are. Now, step aside, Demaury and give us the gypsy boy.” Eliott’s grip on Lucas’ waist tightened, pulling him closer to him. 

“I’d rather soon die.” 

The king smiled at him sadly, shaking his head.  “So be it. Guards seize Captain Demaury--”

“No!” Lucas shouted, removing himself from Eliott’s hold. The captain gave him a pleading look but Lucas held a face like stone. “Leave him be and I will submit myself to you.” The king looked at his son with amusement and hatred. 

“Guards take the boy to the prisons-- I wish to make an example of him. Do not kill him yet.” Confusion passed over both Eliott and Lucas, as the latter was grabbed by a soldier. 

“An example?” Eliott spat the words. 

“Of what happens when you run from a royal edict. Public death by pyre. Take him away!” 

“For an innocent boy?” Eliott bit back as they began to take Lucas towards the steps. The boy casted Eliott a warning look, his eyes wide as they begged him to stay silent. 

“Innocent?” the king sneered. “He is a gypsy-- illegally living in France, practicing witchcraft--”

“You know as well as I do that he is no gypsy,” Eliott told him, his voice low and full of spite. The shadow passed over the king’s eyes again; malice. He held the king’s stare, his head high. Eliott watched as the king’s jaw set tightly, his eyes narrowing. 

“Guards arrest Captain Demaury for treason-- abetting a criminal and disobeying the crown's direct orders. Death by pyre!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your feedback!


	5. In Another Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame Musical songs: "In a Place of Miracles" and "Someday"

Eliott would never forget the look in Lucas’ eyes as he watched the soldier being thrown into the cell. _ If they are such good friends then let these two friends comfort each other before their death,  _ the king had instructed the guards with an amused grin.  _ What misplaced comradery.  _ His eyes stormed over with betrayal, as the lock of the prison clicked into place, leaving them alone, enclosed by damp stone walls. 

“What have you done,” Lucas broke, unable to look at him. “You could have saved yourself.”

“No,” Eliott shook his head, trying to catch his gaze. “I would not be able return to how my life was before I met you.”

“Why do you say such foolish things?” Lucas asked, raising his head. “We are but strangers from two different worlds.”

“And yet you have changed me for the better.” 

“I have led you to death, is what I have done.” 

“I meant what I said,” Eliott defended, taking a step towards him. “I’d rather soon die, then let you be killed for having done nothing wrong.” Lucas turned and walked to the far wall, letting his back slide down the stone until he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. Eliott could only watch from where he stood, unsure of what he should do; how to comfort him. 

“I used to believe, when I was a child, that my father would be happy to know me; that he could love me but now I will die knowing that I will never be loved.” Lucas leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes falling shut as he thought. “The only family I ever had is now imprisoned, regretting ever helping me; my mother died not remembering who I was; my father hates me and wishes me never to have been born.”

“What of me?” Eliott whispered, finding himself on unsteady ground. Lucas opened his eyes, brimmed with tears threatening to spill.

“What of you,” he breathed, repeating the words with a sad smile. “Perhaps in another life we could find happiness in each other, even love, but this is where mine comes to an end.”

“You do not know that.” Lucas rose and walked to Eliott, reaching up to place a hand on his cheek. 

“My life was always set to end like this, but yours doesn’t have to, Eliott. Recant, save yourself. If I am his son, then there must be an ounce of humility in his heart. He will let you go. Live your life, and we will meet again.”

“There must be a way out of here--”

“Shh,” Lucas soothed, shaking his head. “This is as far as I go.”

“You are braver than any soldier,” Eliott spoke, his voice strained. Lucas dropped his hand to Eliott’s neck, running the string of the amulet between his thumb and index finger. 

“I do not feel very brave.” The stone sat in his palm, hovering in the space between them. Eliott tipped Lucas’ chin up, the boy still clutching the map in his hand. 

“I cannot bear to think of a world where you are not in it.” 

“There are many universes where we are together.”

“Why can this not be one of them?” 

“One day the world will change,” Lucas spoke carefully. “And though I will die, far before that day comes, I will not stop wishing for it.” 

“What if this is all a nightmare?” Eliott asked him, brushing his thumb over Lucas’ cheek. 

“Then there is still time for it to become a dream.” Lucas leaned forward and captured Eliott’s lips between his, letting the stone fall from his grasp. Eliott wrapped his arm around his waist, drawing him closer, as the boy held the captain’s face steadily in his hands. He smelled faintly of the lavender that infused the air of the gypsies, although the scent was fading the longer he spent in the cell. He tasted of honey, the sweetness lingering from the mead they drank hours before. Everything about him was intoxicating as they pressed themselves together as their hands had in the court; seeking comfort and assurance only of which the other could provide. 

They held onto each other knowing that as morning twilight neared, so did the end of their lives. Eliott refused to recant-- he would rather burn than submit to a corrupt man whose morals were allowing him to kill his own child. 

“Lucas,” Eliott sighed, pulling him to his chest as the younger boy began to cry quietly. He brought them to the ground, encircling him in his arms. 

“Hold me until dawn,” he whispered into Eliott’s shirt as the tears soaked through the material. The words cut deeply into his heart; the request of a broken voice and boy hanging in the damp, cool air. 

“I would never let you go if I could.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I use the word 'boy' to describe Lucas, I wish to note that I am using it in modern context. The history major in me wants to clarify that during the time period of the story, Lucas (who is 18) would be considered very much to be a man. The word 'teenager' would not be coined until the early 20th century, and back in the Middle Ages you were either a child or an adult (beginning as young as 13) with no in between. So although I call him a 'boy', I used it more modernly-- to refer to gender and a pre-young adult age. 
> 
> Eliott, however, I would write under the term 'man', but he's not significantly older. He is 24 (I did expand their age gap for the sake of a bit more accuracy), and jumped the ranks to Captain with great speed and excellence. He would have joined the guard around 16-17. 
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your feedback.


	6. Justice in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame songs: "Justice in Paris" and "Finale"

Justice in Paris was often displayed in the square at dawn; the streets filled with observers in need of entertainment. As the twilight broke through the night, a pyre was laid, awaiting the prisoners who would soon be led to their fate from the cell. 

Eliott had held Lucas close to him until the very last moment he could, stealing one last kiss, before forcing distance between them as the footsteps of guards drew nearer. As they led Lucas out first, his arms bound in front of him, the boy casted a final glance to Eliott, his blue eyes no less hopeful then they had been the first day he saw them. Eliott was unable to move, or speak, or look away, as his figure retreated out of sight. The second soldier caught Eliott’s eye as he came to bind him. 

“Will you not recant?” Idriss asked, shackling Eliott’s wrists. The captain lifted his chin, his shoulders set back as he looked on at the man who considered a friend. 

“No,” he told the soldier, firm in his decision. “The king is murdering an innocent boy today, and so I die as well. Justice is far from how I would describe what he is issuing.” Idriss studied his face, his eyes searching. 

“How do you know the boy is not gypsy, not a sorcerer? Why do you question the king?”

“I know many things that you do not,  _ friend _ , and if you are as I call you, then you would believe me. I would not stake my life on something-- on someone who was not worth it.” Idriss said nothing more, but just led Eliott away. 

When Eliott reached the square, Lucas was walking up the platform of the pyre, a soldier bringing him to the wooden pole which stood tall in the centre of the logs. Idriss’ grip on Eliott’s arm was unrelenting, as he dragged him over to the king’s viewing seat.

“Captain Demaury,” the man greeted him, a smile on his lips. “Are you ready to recant and apologize for your momentary lapse in judgement?” Eliott glared at him; they both knew the real reason that Lucas was being killed. “The gypsy boy bewitched you. You could not help it.” 

“He is no gypsy,” Eliott spoke just as he did in the Court of Miracles. “That boy is innocent of all crimes. He is no threat to you.” The latter statement caused the king’s eyes to flash with a rage that should have knocked Eliott back, but it didn’t. His blue eyes were nothing but Lucas’, and Lucas’ held nothing more than hope and kindness. The king pressed his lips into a thin line. 

“So you will burn today,” the king said after a moment. “Very well, but not before you watch your friend die.” He motioned for Idriss to take Eliott away, closer to the pyre, to which Lucas was now tied to. 

“The prisoner has been found guilty of entering the city of Paris illegally!” The guard began to read the charges, as a torch was brought forth. Eliott felt every nerve in his body fighting to be let free, so that he could run to him. Lucas’ face was emotionless, his eyes holding a steady gaze into the distance, faraway. 

“Guilty of the crime of witchcraft!” Eliott’s mouth was dry, his throat straining as if each breath he took was suffocating him. An indescribable intensity filled the square, the air becoming dense with tension. There were some who saw this as enjoyable, a passtime. There were some who believed Lucas was a gypsy and therefore deserved to be burned for that simple reason. Then there were some who watched with pity and disgust, and yet they were unable to look away. 

“And guilty of fleeing from a royal warrant! The sentence is death!” The torch was passed to the speaker, and with a swift motion the wood at Lucas’ feet were lit. The boy closed his eyes, accepting his fate and at that moment Eliott knew he couldn’t stand and watch. 

“How much oppression are you willing to allow!” Eliott asked Idriss, whose face was turned from him. He yanked at the chain, forcing Idriss to meet his pleading eye. “Someday your patience is going to break, so why not make that day come now!” His friend’s features were stoic, an emotionless look which each guard masted throughout their service. His eyes however, betrayed him, as there was a shift behind their faint gloss. Then, there was a click and a release as Eliott’s shackles crumpled to the ground, his hands free. 

“It has come,” Idriss nodded, before shoving a key into Eliott’s hand. “It will unlock him. Go before it’s too late. I will hold off all I can.” Eliott gripped the key in his hand, the teeth of the metal pressing deep into his palm threatening to scar his skin. Although it all happened slowly in his mind, Eliott’s reaction was quick. After a grateful smile, he raced through the crowd of watchers, and as Idriss promised, he was right there with him fending back all who tried to stop them. 

Soon all the guards were after them both, the king’s shouts drowned out by the confusion and chaos of the street. As he fought his way through the bodies, he knew that they would soon be overrun by reinforcements. The attempt was less than perfectly executed, but it was not for nothing. Before he could be stopped, Eliott saw the face of a boy who he thought he would never see again.

Yann, flanked by all the gypsies who had escaped the guards that night, appeared as if out of thin air and began to hold off all the soldiers. He managed to break from his awe, and stayed on his path with only one thing keeping his attention. 

Reaching the platform, Eliott felt the heat of the fire burning like a sun on his skin. The smoke filled his lungs as he reached for the lock. The metal burned in his hands as he thrusted the key into it, twisting it free with a click. Eliott turned his face, coughing, the fire beginning to make his eyes water. It had yet to reach Lucas, but the boy was slumped forward against the chain, his body limp and sweating. With all the strength he had left in him, Eliott stepped through the fire, reaching from him. The chain came loose, falling to the ground, the clatter muffled by the crackling of the flames. He pulled Lucas to him, lifting him into his hold, his limbs draping over Eliott’s forearms as he stumbled back. 

“Eliott!” Idriss’ voice shouted at him from over the fighting bodies. The soldier was fighting off two of his fellow guards, swords clashing against each other. “Run!” 

Eliott did as he was told, letting his feet hit against the cobblestone as he carried Lucas away from the square. He didn’t need to think, his body maneuvering the streets without a second thought from adrenaline and memory and soon he found himself on the steps of the only sanctuary he could think of. 

Kicking open the cathedral’s doors, Eliott welcomed the familiarity with great appreciation.  _ Sanctuary _ . With the eyes of the saints, he let his pace slow as he approached the chancel, his arms and legs aching as he strained to keep Lucas safely in his grip. 

Letting him free, he laid the boy’s body on the altar. Lucas’ face was pale and covered in ash. His features and limbs were slack like a doll propped up against a bookcase; his entire being weakened and aching. Eliott took Lucas’ limp hand in his own, holding it over his heart as if to transfer strength. 

“Lucas,” his voice broke, the sound echoing through the decimated rubble of the church. “Stay--”

“Is he dead?” Eliott’s shoulders tensed as the footsteps came to a halt. Dropped Lucas’ hand, he laid it across the boy’s abdomen with a gentle touch, before turning to face the man who dared speak. 

“Because of you,” Eliott spat at the king, shielding Lucas from his sight. The king nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. 

“It is better this way,” the boy’s father said without guilt. Eliott opened his mouth, shaking his head, unable to speak. He ran his fingers through his hair, grasping at strands in disbelief. 

“You truly believe that, don’t you.” The king did not reply. “You couldn’t let him be. He was no threat! He didn’t wish for the throne, he didn’t wish to challenge your children. He only wanted to live!” Eliott shouted, the cathedral ringing his voice throughout the space. His words crashed back at him like a wave retreating back into the ocean. The hall quieted once again, only the faint sounds of their breathing heard. “You are a selfish coward.” 

“You do not speak to a king like--”

“I am not speaking to a king. I speak to a merciless man who  _ murdered _ his own son because of a misplaced fear.”

“You do not know what you speak of. He had the face of a king, the mind of a mad woman, and the tongue of a gypsy-- he was a danger to my family.” 

“Even in his death you deny him the only thing he wanted,” Eliott said with a humourless laugh of incredulousness. “Peace. Can you not let his soul rest?” The king lifted his chin up at the captain, who stood above him on the step of the altar. 

“I have gotten what I required,” the king spoke slowly. “But you--”

“I am leaving France,” Eliott told him, shaking his head. “You mustn't worry about me. You are a wicked man, and the wicked do not go unpunished, but I am not the one who will punish you. Your damnation will be at the hands of the ghost that will whisper in your ear for the rest of your life. The voices of your consciousness that will eat you from the inside out. I can do nothing worse to you, then leave you to suffer at the foot of your own wrongdoings.” 

The guards soon arrived at the cathedral, entering the church with their swords drawn. Perhaps Lucas was right, perhaps there was a singular ounce of humanity in the king, as he held out his hand to stop the attack. 

“Stand down. The laws of sanctuary protect them from harm,” the king told his men, as they lowered their weapons. “Do not let me find you in France, Demaury,” he added in a low voice. Eliott's jaw was tightly set at the comment. The king then turned and marched his army out of the cathedral without looking back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear your feedback!


	7. Morning in Paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by The Hunchback of Notre Dame songs: "Finale" and "Top of the World"

As the doors of the cathedral shut, Eliott was plunged back into the dim light of the early morning that streamed in through the broken stained glass. He stood frozen even long after the king left, feeling the weight of his heart like a stone in his chest. He let out a shaky breath before turning back to the boy who laid under the protection of the golden cross. Walking to him, he picked him up once again, resting Lucas’ head on his shoulder, pressing him close. 

“There’s something I wish to show you,” Eliott spoke to him, as he carried him towards the spiral steps of the bell tower. With each step he took, he counted aloud, as he once imagined Lucas did. 

The sun was breaking over the horizon, as he stepped out into the open air. The beautiful colours shimmered off of the bells with a calmness that he envied. He carried the boy to the edge of the tower, settling onto the dusty ground near the railing, Lucas in his lap. 

“You can see everything from up here. The river, the city gates…” Eliott explained, looking out at the view from between the rails. Just as the light of the morning reflected off the bells, it similarly illuminated the city below with an equal tranquil beauty. 

“We’re at the top of the world,” Lucas commented with a small cough. Eliott brushed a strand of hair from his face, wanting to see the blue hue unobscured. They were paler in colour-- greyer than they had been when he first saw them, but they were no less mesmerizing. 

“From up here, everything seems peaceful,” Eliott said, raising his head to look back up at the view. Lucas shifted in his lap with what little energy he had left, to press his back to Eliott’s chest. 

“It’s nice… the two of us sitting here,” Lucas mused with a hoarse voice. Eliott rested his chin on the top of the boy’s head. 

“At the top of the world?” Lucas gave a laugh that turned into a cough, and Eliott pressed his hand to the boy’s chest. “While he thinks you’re dead, we must leave.”

“I hear Italy is beautiful this time of year,” Lucas joked, as they watched the sun rise. 

“The world is so cruel,” Eliott muttered after a moment. “And ugly.” 

“But you make me realize there are times and people when it’s not always as such,” Lucas said, tilting to look up at him. “You are not.”

“Will you miss it here?”

“Perhaps,” he answered, brushing his thumb across Eliott’s jaw. “Will you?”

“As long as I am with you, it will not matter,” Eliott smiled at the boy in his arms, who hummed at the response. He dipped his head down, placing a light kiss on his lips.

* * *

Morning in Paris meant a new day was beginning, and the poetic symbolism was not lost on Eliott. He placed a steady hand on Lucas’ waist, helping him down the steps of the tower with a slow patience. Waiting for them in the centre of the cathedral were Yann and another gypsy-- Manon, a petite girl with brown hair and a motherly gaze in her eyes. The captain looked on at the sight, watching a cry of relief fall from Manon’s mouth and the fear fall from Yann’s tightly set shoulders. Lucas was pulled into their arms before a word could be said, the gypsy moving quickly to his side. A smile broke onto Eliott’s lips as he rested his head against the stairwell door frame; the happy sight making his heartache. Their conversation floated with a needy hurry as the gypsy explained to him that they were leaving, fleeing before the king sent soldiers to catch them all. They offered to help sneak the two boys out of Paris and into the countryside where they could begin their own journey to Italy. 

They agreed to the passage, and Manon explained that their caravans were outside and they would have to leave now.  _ The sooner the better, _ Lucas had replied and so their plans were settled within a matter of minutes. With a flick of her wrist, Manon unclipped her black cloak, settling it over Lucas’ shoulder, his face now shadowed by the hood, before the two friends began for the front doors, leaving them at the entrance of the tower. 

“Eliott?” Lucas called out to him, pulling him from his daze. 

“Yes, my love?” The boy blinked at the endearment, a blush spreading high on his cheeks. His eyes once again held a hesitation that made Eliott wary of what he was going to say. 

“Are you certain this is the life you wish?” It was a simple question, with a simple answer.

“Yes,” Eliott answered without a moment’s thought. He was aware of the dangers they might face if not careful. He was aware of the threat that would always hover over them like a cloud on a stormy day. He was aware, that for as simple as the question may have been, the meaning and fear behind it was extremely difficult. Lucas nodded slowly, an internal debate raging war in his mind. “I feel obliged to ask you the same question.” 

“I have no other choice in the matter.”

“That is not what I am asking.” 

“I know,” he said. “I do not change my answer. I have had no choice in any of my life and what I feel for you is no different. You are not a choice. Do I wish this life-- to live forever in fear from both my father and society? Of course not. But am I willing to live it non the less? With every breath I breathe, because for an unexplainable reason, I would rather live hidden than live without you.” 

As they walked down the aisle of the cathedral, Eliott steadying Lucas, once again the poetic symbolism was not lost on him. He watched from the corner of his eye, as Lucas gave one last look around the walls which held more memories than he had shared; more stories and secrets, although Eliott would hear about each of them soon enough.

“You were correct,” Eliott leaned into his ear as they walked further away from the altar. 

“You must be more specific than that, Captain. I am often correct.” 

“About my dream,” he revealed to the curiosity of the boy. “It predicted my worst fear.” 

“I see,” Lucas spoke, carefully. “And did it come true?” 

“No, and it will not for the longest time.” Lucas raised his eyebrows as they stopped at the doors. Without warning, Eliott swept Lucas off his feet with a swift motion, gaining a small yelp from the younger boy. “Now, you must act incredibly dead.” Lucas closed his eyes, sticking his tongue out of his mouth, in a playful manner. Eliott stifled the laughter that bubbled in his chest. “I was speaking to something more realistic.” 

“Oh, realistic,” Lucas teased, before turning his face inwards. “Very well, but I expect nothing but tears from you,  _ my love _ .” Eliott looked down at the boy in his arms, who laid with his eyes closed, ready to be carried out in false mourning, and he couldn’t help but think of his dream. Lucas had been correct in speaking to Eliott’s fear-- the fear that would nag at him for the rest of his days. The fear of loss; to lose what he had only just found was what kept him awake at night. He didn’t want to tell Lucas that he would not have to search far for those tears. That each time he looked at him, the flashes of his death-- of his limp body, pale face-- appeared before his eyes. Perhaps one day he would tell him, but not today, not when he had so much to be grateful for. 

And as morning in Paris began, Eliott walked out of the cathedral for the last time. It’s looming figure no longer daunting as it’s shadow fell now like a veil of protection, watching over them as they left the bells of Notre Dame to rest once again in peace. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this random idea I had! Thank you for all of you extremely kind and wonderful comments that always made me smile! 
> 
> Although both the musical and the original book end on a very sober note, I couldn't help but give in to the happiness of Elu. 
> 
> I would love to hear your final thoughts! Once again, thank you and I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! 
> 
> "The world is cruel. The world is ugly, but there are times and there are people when the world is not."


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